


and I don't want to think too much about what we should or shouldn't do

by Ravenspear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenspear/pseuds/Ravenspear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Season 7 where God has brought back Raphael and Balthazar to be members of TFW, Raph and Dean get drunk and have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I don't want to think too much about what we should or shouldn't do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zekkass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/gifts).



Raphael has never been drunk before, and she's not sure she likes the feeling; her head feels like it's floating, and her limbs feel unwieldy, everything is far more amusing than it rightly should be, and she even _giggled_ when Balthazar leaned in, whispering a stupid joke in her ear that she would have smote him for once upon a time.

She's never felt arousal before, either. She's felt love, affection, the want to be near someone. ( _Michael_ , she thinks. _Lucifer_ , a voice in the back of her mind hisses.) But she's never felt this hot, heavy lust before, like an ache in her stomach and between her legs, a warm flush all across her skin, the _need_ to be skin-on-skin, pressing herself into someone as close as possible. She enjoys it, even though she feels like maybe she shouldn't.

"Shit," Dean slurs when she pushes him up against the motel door. "This is a really bad idea."

She agrees, but doesn't care. She's drunk, and she _wants_ , and while she may not _like_ Dean, he is pleasing to her (was built to be pleasing to her; was built to be _Michael_ ). So she kisses him instead, harsh and wet and wanton, presses herself up against his body so she can feel the warmth of him, feel the way his body instinctively moves into hers, hands coming to rest at her waist, and she gasps a little when she feels the hardness of his arousal against her hip.

"We're so drunk," Dean mumbles into her mouth, but one of his hands has found its way up her shirt, and it's warm like burning over her stomach. "You'll smite me in the morning."

"If I did, Castiel would know where to find me," she breathes back, hands infuriatingly clumsy as she fumbles with his belt buckle. "I value my life more than I could ever hate you."

Dean grunts out something that might have been a laugh. "Fair enough," he says, and his hands don't feel clumsy at all as they travel up her back and undoes the clasps of her bra, unhooks the straps, and drags the whole thing down to drop it on the floor. He's practiced at this, she thinks, and idly wonders how many women he's taken to bed before she is distracted by his thumb stroking across a nipple.

Her own clumsiness frustrates her, so she leaves the buckle of Dean's belt a mess of broken metal pieces of the floor, and Dean curses as she drags his fly open and her hand slides into his pants. She likes the breathy, moaning quality of the words, and thinks she would very much like him to make them again. So she touches and teases, and Dean's eyes closes as his head falls back to hit the door.

When she removes her hand to deal with the stubborn buttons of her own pants, one of Dean's hands follow, and it annoys her that he has the coordination and presence of mind to deal with buttons, when her fingers slip and fail, and she frowns until Dean's second hand comes up to cradle her neck, and he distracts her with warm, hungry kisses.

Dean undoes her pants, and when he drags them down her legs, he follows down onto his knees, and Raphael isn't quite sure what he means to do, until he leans in and kisses her through her underwear, breath warm and tickling, and she can't help the shocked moan, the way she needs to balance herself with her hands against the door not to fall.

And Dean does not stop, he breathes and licks at her through the soft, thin fabric, one hand resting at the back of her knee, steadying her, while the other rests teasingly against the inside of her thigh, fingers brushing the edge of her underwear, so close to the wet, hot ache inside her.

He doesn't stop teasing until she moans his name, voice breathy and strange, and the feeling of his fingers inside her makes her shudder and close her eyes. It feels wonderful, but too much like something he did because she did what he wanted, too much like a _reward_. And Raphael takes no rewards from humans (not even ones that taste like Michael, and burn like Lucifer).

So she steps back, out of shoes and pants, and pulls Dean up by the neck of his shirt, kisses him until he's breathless, and drags him backwards into the room. His shirts end up thrown over a lamp by the table, and her underwear next to the television set, and Dean himself ends up pushed down across the bed, skin flushed and pupils dilated as he looks up at her.

In that moment, she can see the beauty in the human design, in the interplay of all their component parts, the way she supposes her Father had done when he imagined it and thought the first humans into being. It makes her want to kiss Dean again, so she crawls on top of him and does.

Dean's fingers are still nimble when they start to unbutton her shirt, but are too slow for her liking; the buttons fly as she rips the thing open, and when Dean says he won't help her look for them in the morning, she tells him to shut up, and places his hands on her breasts, hoping again for the sensation his fingers across her nipples had brought forth. She isn't disappointed, and she finds herself smiling at Dean as if she actually cared for him.

Her fingers find Dean's jeans, and she pulls them down off his hips, and Dean groans as his erection comes free. The sight of it makes something clench inside her; a hot, needy feeling that only increases when she grasps it in her hand, touches Dean's fevered flesh, firm and slow so she can see if it will wring her name from his lips.

It's on the upstroke of her hand, as her thumb presses against the underside of the head that Dean moans _"Raphael"_ ; it sounds like a _prayer_ , and she finds she understands the intent behind his reward now, of wanting to give something in return for the feeling the utterance of one's name has inspired.

When she slides up to straddle his hips, Dean's hands find their way to her waist, a warm and pleasant pressure against her skin; but she finds she likes roughness better, when she sinks down onto him and he fills her up inside, and Dean's hands grow firm and hard as he curses and moans.

His hardness inside her has her shuddering and flushing, and the sensation of being this close reminds her of singing with her brothers in harmony, but harsher; less immaculately sweet, more solid and imperfect and _real_. It is beautiful, she thinks as she rocks back and forth on Dean's lap, lets his fingers grasp and pull and lead her movement; beautiful and dangerous and pleasing. Her Father's perfect trap, she finds herself thinking.

Her Father is gone, though, replaced, and she has nothing left to lose when she leans down to kiss and lick and adore the body beneath hers in every way that was once forbidden, in every way she wants and needs.

Dean comes to his climax inside her, after what seems like an eternity of their coupling, and she is fascinated with the way his body grows taut as he gives into it, how his head is thrown back, neck bared, like submission before what she has brought him to.

Then, once the pleasure leaves him soft and mellow, he reaches a hand between her legs where they still are joined, and pulls her down to kiss her lips as he works his fingers against the spot that he had kissed previously, and into her alongside his softening member, and where his finish had been silent, a breath between clenched teeth, hers is loud when he brings her to it, a wordless cry of awe and bliss.

By the time she feels like she may be able to move again, Dean has already arranged the quilt over them, and she finds herself lying with her back against his chest, his arm wrapped loosely around her waist. The haze of drunkenness is fading from her mind, and she thinks it might be prudent to leave now, to prevent Dean from forming some ridiculous human attachment to her, and, possibly more importantly, to avoid Balthazar learning of her _indiscretion_ and using it to... "tease"... her.

When she thinks about moving, though, her head protests with the beginnings of pain, and her body seems only slightly less reluctant to move. She supposes she can live with Balthazar's knowing smiles. And if Dean decides they have any sort of... "thing"... she is certain that can be dealt with.

So instead she makes herself comfortable, and she sleeps.


End file.
